watches on the court of guard :- First, I will tell thee this, Desdemona is directly in love with him. Rod. With him!-why, 'tis not possible.

Iago. Lay thy finger-thus, and let thy soul be instructed. Mark me, with what violence she first loved the Moor, but for bragging, and telling her fantastical lies: And will she love him still for prating? Let not thy discreet heart think it: Her eye must be fed; and what delight shall she have to look on the devil?

Rod. I cannot believe that in her; she is full of most bless'd condition.

Iago. Bless'd fig's end! the wine she drinks is made of grapes: if she had been bless'd, she would never have loved the Moor: Bless'd pudding! Didst thou not see her paddle with the palm of his hand? didst not mark that?

Rod. Yes; but that was but courtesy.

Iago. Lechery, by this hand; an index and obscure prologue to the history of lust and foul thoughts.Sir, be you ruled by me: I have brought you from Venice: Watch you to-night; for the command, I'll lay't upon you: Cassio knows you not ;-I'll not be far from you: Do you find some occasion to anger Cassio, either by speaking too loud, or tainting his discipline; or from what other cause you please, which the time shall more favourably minister.

Rod. Well,

Iago. Sir, he is rash, and very sudden in choler; and, haply, may strike at you:-Provoke him that he may; for, even out of that, will I cause these of Cyprus to mutiny; whose qualification shall come into no true taste again, but by the displanting of Cassio.

Rod. I will do this, if you can bring it to any opportunity. Iago. I warrant thee. Meet me by and by at the

citadel: I must fetch his necessaries ashore. Fare

well.

Rod. Adieu. (Exit RODERIGO. Iago. That Cassio loves her, I do well believe it; That she loves him, 'tis apt, and of great credit; The Moor-howbeit that I endure him not,Is of a constant, loving, noble nature; And, I dare think, he'll prove to Desdemona A most dear husband. Now I do love her too; Not out of absolute lust, (though, peradventure, I stand accountant for as great a sin,) But partly led to diet my revenge, For that I do suspect the lusty Moor Hath leap't into my seat the thought whereof Doth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwards; And nothing can nor shall content my soul, Till I am even with him, wife for wife; Or failing so, yet that I put the Moor

At least into a jealousy so strong

That judgment cannot cure. Which thing to do,-
If this poor brach of Venice, whom I trash
For his quick hunting, stand the putting on,
I'll have our Michael Cassio on the hip;
Abuse him to the Moor in the rank garb,-
For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too,-
Make the Moor thank me, love me, and reward me,
For making him egregiously an ass,
And practising upon his peace and quiet,
Even to madness. 'Tis here, but yet confused;
Knavery's plain face is never seen till used.

[Exit.

SCENE II.

Cyprus.

The Guard-House before the Castle.

Enter OTHELLO, CASSIO, GIOVANNI, LUCA, MARCO, and PAULO,

Oth. Good Michael, look you to the guard to

night;

Let's teach ourselves that honourable stop,
Not to out-sport discretion.

Cas. Iago hath direction what to do;

But, notwithstanding, with my personal eye
Will I look to't.

Oth. Iago is most honest.

Michael, good-night :-To-morrow, with your ear

liest,

Let me have speech with you :-
Good-night.

[Exeunt all but CASSIO.

Enter IAGO,

Cas. Welcome, Iago; we must to the watch.

Iago. Not this hour, lieutenant; it is not yet ten o'clock. Our general cast us thus early, for the love of his Desdemona; whom let us not therefore blame: he hath not yet made wanton the night with her; and she is sport for Jove.

Cas. She's a most exquisite lady.

Iago. What an eye she has! methinks it sounds

a parley of provocation.

Cas. An inviting eye; and yet, methinks, right

modest.

Iago. And, when she speaks, 'tis an alarum to love.

Cas. She is, indeed, perfection.

Iago. Well, happiness to their sheets!-Come, lieutenant, I have a stoup of wine, and here without are a brace of Cyprus gallants, that would fain have a measure to the health of the black Othello.

Cas. Not to-night, good lago; I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking: I could well wish courtesy would invent some other custom of entertainment.

Iago. O, they are our friends;-but one cup: I'll drink for you.

Cas. I have drunk but one cup to-night, and that was craftily qualified too; and, behold, what innovation it makes here: I am unfortunate in the infirmity, and dare not task my weakness with any more. Iago. What, man! 'tis a night of revels; the gallants desire it.

Cas. Where are they?

Iago. Here; I pray you call them in.

Cas. I'll do't; but it dislikes me.

Iago. If I can fasten but one cup upon him,

[Exit.

With that which he hath drunk to-night already,
He'll be as full of quarrel and offence

As my young mistress's dog. Now, my sick fool,

Roderigo,

Whom love hath turn'd almost the wrong side out

ward,

To Desdemona hath to-night caroused
Potations pottle-deep; and he's to watch:
Three lads of Cyprus-noble, swelling spirits,
That hold their honour in a wary distance,

The very elements of this warlike isle,-
Have I to-night fluster'd with flowing cups,
And they watch too. Now, 'mongst this flock of

drunkards,

I am to put our Cassio in some action

That may offend the isle :-But here they come:
If consequence do but approve my dream,
My boat sails freely, both with wind and stream.

Enter CASSIO, MONTANO, JULIO, ANTONIO, and
LEONARDO, with Wine.

Cas. 'Fore Heaven, they have given me a rouse already.

Mont. Good faith, a little one; not past a pint, As I am a soldier.

Iago. Some wine, ho!

[Sings.] And let me the canakin clink, clink ;

And let me the canakin clink :
A soldier's a man:

A life's but a span ;

Why then let a soldier drink.

Some wine, boys!

Cas. 'Fore Heaven, an excellent song!

Iago. I learn'd it in England, where, indeed, they are most potent in potting: your Dane, your German, and your swag-bellied Hollander, -Drink, ho!-are nothing to your English.

Cas. Is your Englishman so expert in his drinking? Iago. Why, he drinks you with facility, your Dane dead drunk; he sweats not to overthrow your Almain; he gives your Hollander a vomit, ere the next pottle can be fill'd.

Cas. To the health of our general.

Mont. I am for it, lieutenant: and I'll do you

justice.

Iago. O sweet England!